


Summers Lost

by sourwolfing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Slow Build, Stiles messing with things that shouldn't be messed with, Wizard!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourwolfing/pseuds/sourwolfing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his quest to discover a cure for the bite and turn Scott back into a human, Stiles found himself in a run-down old shop on the edge of town - the kind of place that sold old junk that looked like it should be sitting in a museum somewhere but probably wasn't worth much of anything. But they had what he needed. Books. Lots of them. Books about the supernatural, books you couldn't find at your local Barnes and Noble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_So hear me now, boy - stay alive,_  
Cause that's the way it should go.  
Would your maker have opened your eyes  
If he prefered them closed?  
To feel the weight of summers lost  
I'd love to have you here.  
And all the times we've ever crossed  
It was just to keep you here. 

Summers Lost - Hurt

 

The place was old - older than old - and covered in such a thick layer of dust he doubted it had been cleaned in months. It stank of mothballs and old perfume and the lighting sucked, but Stiles guessed it was supposed to be part of the charm. The shop was run-down, had long since run the course of its glory days. There wasn't much in it except for some old furnature and fragments of junk from the past that someone felt the need to immoralize like it was as important as history itself. Half the stuff in there was probably older than anyone still living in Beacon Hills, and most likely belonged in a museum somewhere in one of those exhibits that no one ever really looked at - the ones you walk through at a brisk pace, pausing here and there to pretend to look and feign interest before scurrying off to see the dinosaurs. But - according to his faithful friend, the internet - they had what he needed. Books. Lots of books. Books on the supernatural and the occult, more information than he would ever be able to find on any website. Detailed accounts of the origins of everything that went bump in the night and how to stop them. And even though Stiles wished he could buy them all and bury himself neck deep in reading over the summer (because actually doing summer assignments was overrated) he knew he would never have the time. Or the money, for that matter.

"Are you the kid I talked to on the phone?"

Stiles dropped the old - and incredibly creepy - doll he'd been examining, letting out a rather loud yelp, knocking over a display in the process. There were a lot of thuds and bangs and crashes and he held his breath until it was over, relieved. Nothing shattered, nothing broke - no harm, no foul. Just a mess for someone else to clean up once he'd gone. Or maybe they'd just leave it that way. It really didn't seem like the kind of place that bothered tidying up at all.

"Yeah, yeah... it's me," Stiles nodded, attempting to regain his composure.

The old man who had scared the life out of him just moments before eyed the mess before turning and motioning for Stiles to follow. He led him through the store, through the twists and turns of narrow aisles hardly big enough for one person to fit through, the displays growing more and more chaotic the further back they went. By the time they reached the back of the store there was no organization at all - it looked as though they had just taken a ton of junk and threw it on top of each other. Stiles guessed it was because not many people ever made it back this far; it wasn't hard to understand why. The man unhooked a set of keys from the loop of his pants and unlocked a door that was decorated with a rather unwelcoming 'Keep Out' sign, and when the door opened it didn't get any better. The room was dark and the cold air was a slap in the face he had not been prepared for, but the old man just stepped inside without a second thought and he followed, and Stiles was really beginning to question his life choices.

"You're doing this for Scott... This is for Scott," he muttered to himself.

"You say something?"

Stiles shook his head despite the darkness, "No, sir."

He was having a hard time adjusting to the cold. This wasn't like walking into an air conditioned restaurant or leaving the window open during the cool hours of the night. This was wet, heavy, basement cold - the kind of cold that went right through your skin and cut your bones and you had to sit in the sun for hours before you started to feel normal again. He didn't like it, not at all, but he just kept trying to ignore the fact that this was probably a terribly horrible idea.

And then there was light, and Stiles' hands flew up to cover his eyes. The light in this cold little room was much brighter than the lighting out in the shop (probably so people couldn't see that the crap they were buying was actually crap) and it took him a minute to adjust. It looked like a closet, no bigger than a few square feet, but it was packed. There were crates and lock boxes and shelves full of beautiful pieces and paintings stacked up against the wall. The good stuff. Unlocking one of the lock boxes, the old man pulled out a rather large... something. It was wrapped in cloths and appeared to be quite heavy, because the man struggled to set it down on a small table shoved in the corner of the room. Stiles watched with quiet fascination, chewing on his fingernails to keep from fidgeting while the other unwrapped the bundle, revealing some of the oldest books that Stiles had ever seen - much older than the outdated, archaic manuscripts and textbooks and research papers they kept in the local library. The man set two of them aside, picking up the last. It was much larger than the other two, bound in black leather, the cover oddly void of anything. No words, no markings, no pictures. Just a worn, slightly faded cover and worn pages. 

"I believe," he said softly, running his fingers down the cover, "This is the book you're looking for."

He picked the book up, handing it over to Stiles, grip lingering. Stiles couldn't tell if it was because he had some sort of personal attachment to the book or if he didn't feel right handing it over to some kid. It was funny, really, how people could look at him and see just another teenager - young and dumb and irresponsible - when in reality he was anything but. If only this man knew what he did on almost a nightly basis, knew how he spent almost every waking minute worrying, looking over his shoulder wondering if today would be his or Scott's or Lydia's or his father's last day. If only he knew what was really going on in Beacon Hills. Or maybe he did. Maybe that why he was so wary to let it go. He didn't want it to fall in the wrong hands.

"Thanks. Three hundred, right?" he balanced the book in one arm - which proved to be quite the task because _damn_ it was heavy - and reached into his pocket to pull out a wad of cash. Some of it was his own money, money he'd kept stashed away under his mattress for days like this, and some of it was from Scott who insisted on chipping in. Not that Stiles was complaining. Three hundred dollars was a lot for a book.

The man nodded and took the money and Stiles hurried out before he could change his mind. He was three feet away from the front door when they old man called out to him -

"Hey kid!"

Stiles stopped in his tracks, silently cursing himself for not getting out of there faster as he turned around to face the man, "Yeah?"

"Just... be careful alright? That book's not something to mess around with for shits and giggles," he said sternly; and then something in his face changed, grew sad and distant and worried, like he wished someone had given him that same advice many years ago,"It's not something to be messed with period."

With a slight nod, Stiles backed toward the door and rushed out into the blinding sunlight before any of this could possibly get any weirder. As soon as he was within the confines of his jeep, he pulled out his cell phone and called Scott.

"Hey, I got it."

_"How'd it go?"_ there was a muffled voice in the background and he could hear Scott shushing them.

"I don't know, it was weird.... Where are you? We could meet up at your place and check this thing out."

There was a voice in the background again followed by giggling from Scott - _giggling_ , _"I don't know Stiles, I'm kind of busy today."_

Stiles frowned, "Dude, it's summer vacation and Allison and her dad left three days ago, how are you possibly busy?"

_"I just am Stiles, I'm sorry. I gotta go - we'll look at it together some other time, okay?"_

Scott hung up before Stiles could say anything else, and he slammed the phone down into the passenger's seat in frustration. He sped away from the shop, not caring that he was doing twenty above the speed limit and that his jeep was hiccupping and jerking and whining from the strain. Pulling into the driveway, he slammed on the brakes and had hardly parked the jeep and shut off the engine before he was hopping out and storming into the house, slamming the door behind him. His father looked up from where he'd been sitting at the kitchen table, still holding the mug of coffee to his lips as he stared over at his son and _god damn it_ Stiles had forgotten it was his day off.

"Everything alright?" the Sheriff asked in that 'do I really want to know?' tone of voice he'd been perfecting over the years.

Stiles just shrugged and shook his head, "It's nothing, just a little frustrated."

"Yeah, I can see that. Just next time try not to take it out on the front door."

Stiles nodded before heading upstairs, shutting his bedroom door (quietly) behind him. Sitting down cross legged on top of his bed, he placed the book in front of him and for a long time he just sat there staring at it, asking himself over and over again if this was a good idea. But this was bigger than that - wasn't just about good and bad. If there was one thing he'd learned over these past few years, it was that the world definitely wasn't just black and white. There were so many shades of grays and in-betweens, and that sometimes the people your parents told you were monsters weren't really so bad after all. If the old man had any sense of what was in this book and had been right in his warnings, there was a very good chance that this could all end very badly. But this wasn't just about him. Nothing ever was. This was about Scott, his best friend. This was about finding a cure and helping Scott get his life back - his old life. A life with asthma and unfortunate haircuts and normal teenage problems like not having a girlfriend and getting ready for college. This was their last summer to try and fix things, to try and get back to the lives they always thought they'd have - before Peter, before Derek, before the bite and the Argent's and all of this werewolf nonsense. They would be heading off to college in just a few short months, parting ways for the first time in, well, forever - and Stiles had promised Scott that he would find a cure, that he would be able to head off to college and live a semi-normal freaking life. 

He did a lot of thinking, a lot of soul searching before he worked up the nerve to open that book, and when he did he could have sworn that as soon as he did he felt a breeze across the back of his neck. It was cold, like ice, and it made his hairs stand on end. Stiles tried to tell himself it was just a weird coincidence, that it was just some air coming in from the open window. But it was June and eighty degrees outside and he knew better than to believe in coincidences. 

The words on the page were small, written in a neat, fancy script in a language he couldn't read. Some of the words seemed familiar enough to guess the meaning, and given the age of the book he guessed it was all in Latin. There was only one person in Beacon Hills who could read and write and speak Latin fluently - or at least, only one person he knew. Reaching over to grab his cell phone, he jumped out of his skin and almost fell off the bed when he noticed a familiar, brooding, dark figure sulking in the corner.

"Jesus Chr - Derek!" he hissed, careful to keep his voice down; he didn't need to give his father any reason to come upstairs and check on him, "You really need to stop doing that."

"Then stop leaving your window open."

"It's like, three hundred degrees outside of course I'm going to leave it open - and having an open window isn't an invitation for you to just come sneaking in whenever your cold little heart desires."

Derek rolled his eyes and took a few steps towards him, glaring down at the book before looking back towards Stiles, "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I opened a book, last I checked no harm's ever come from reading a book."

"Stiles, that book is a translation of ancient spells, the last surviving copy."

"So?"

" _So_ it's not something you should be messing with."

"Well, I can't even read it so I can't do much with it, now can I?"

"You should bring it back."

Now it was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes, "Look, Derek, it's just a book. I don't believe in spells or voodoo or magic or any of that, but if there's something in here that shows even the slightest potential of helping Scott, I'm going to try it. Because in case you haven't noticed, we're both starting to get pretty freakin' desperate."

Derek just sighed that broody, 'no one understands', 'you're missing the point' sigh Stiles had heard so many times he could mimic it with almost pinpoint accuracy. He'd gotten very good at his Derek impressions over the last few months. Scott got a kick out of them - when he decided to actually spend time with his best friend, that is; Stiles didn't feel all that high on his list of priorities these days. Derek started out the windowsill, pausing as he held onto the ledge, his head barely peeking through the window.

"Just be careful, okay? You don't know what's in that thing."

"Funny, you say that like _you_ know. Care to enlighten me?"

"Just be careful, Stiles," he repeated, and then he was gone.

"Freaking werewolves," Stiles muttered to himself before closing the book, finally grabbing his cell phone and calling the one person who could help him figure out exactly what was in this damn thing - Lydia.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Derek and the shop owner's warnings, Stiles starts messing around with the book.

“Where the hell did you find this thing, anyways?”

Stiles and Lydia were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, eating pizza and drinking wine that his dad pretended not to see them sneaking out of the liquor cabinet as he made his way out the door to go and meet up with Melissa. They were eating off of paper plates and drinking out of plastic cups because Stiles had long since moved on and given up on desperately fighting for Lydia’s attention. He was fine with settling for her friendship if it meant he got to have her in his life – because he still thought she was pretty incredible and being her friend was better than nothing at all. Besides, it made moments like this significantly less awkward and far less stressful because Stiles could focus less on her perfect skin and amazing eyes and gorgeous hair and more on conversation and having fun. Though Stiles wouldn’t exactly define translating Latin as fun – but it was better than sitting in his room alone, constantly feeding words and phrases into Google Translate in an attempt to find something in the book that would be helpful.

“At some antique shop out on the edge of town.”

“So… you went antique shopping and just happened to come across an archaic book of spells?”

“Well… no.”

It didn’t take long to explain the process of how he’d come across the book. He told her about the promise he’d made to Scott, and how that had led to him spending hours on the internet searching for any clues that could lead to a cure even though he’d done it countless times before. But this time, he’d come across some anonymous blog that wrote about spells and folklore and monsters – things that a lot of people didn’t know about – and in one of their entries, they talked about these books that contained more information on the supernatural than any modern man could ever know. So he looked into them, found out as much as he could about the books, what was in them, where they were. It had taken him a while to figure out exactly which book might be useful – all of them seemed as though they could help, but this one had seemed the most promising. So he’d tracked it down, following up with each new location and trying to figure out where the book headed next. And it just happened to turn out that the book had made its way to Beacon Hills about forty years ago – something that would have been a very strange and handy coincidence, had Stiles actually believed in coincidences.

“Are you sure you want to be messing with this thing?”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of that question,” Stiles said with a slight chuckle, scratching his cheek.

“Well, I just think this might be a really bad idea. You or Scott or someone else could end up getting really hurt.”

“Come on, Lydia, are you trying to tell me you actually believe in spells and magic?”

“Are you trying to tell me that you spent three hundred dollars on this thing and you don’t?”

“I _believe_ that there might be something in this book that can help Scott. Spells and magic and voodoo, I think it’s a load of crap. But there might be something medicinal in here.”

Lydia just nodded, eyes growing distant and voice going soft, “Well, I’ve seen enough these past few years to believe anything’s possible.”

Stiles was in no position to be skeptical. His best friend was a werewolf, he’d battled alphas and hunters, seen a Kanima… At this point, after everything he’d seen, vampires and monsters and voodoo and magic should have seemed completely logical. But it didn’t, because there was still the part of Stiles who held onto the hope that a normal life was possible – that whatever it was that had happened in the past, whatever it was that had created the first werewolf – that it was all just a fluke, a disease that could be cured. That this was it; that this was the only thing wrong with the world. He didn’t want there to be a world full of magic and monsters and all the things that go bump in the night – he wanted to be able to lay down and close his eyes and know that all of this was _over_.

He didn’t want anything else to be afraid of.

“Listen to this one – It’s called ‘ _The Rain Spell_ ’. It’s a little rough, but I think it says: _I tell you, the element of water, to rain upon this place. This is my wish and so it shall be._ I think it lost something in translation because that sounds kind of silly.”

“Let me see,” Stiles said softly, taking the book from her; he looked to where she was pointing and read, “ _Amen dico vobis, elementum aquae pluviae super locum istum. Hoc volo, et non erit._ ”

And then it happened again – that quick chill, an icy gust of air rushing along the back of his neck, instantly followed by a darkening sky and the distant roll of thunder. Soon after, the rain started coming down in thick sheets, so heavy and fast that Stiles could hardly see out his window. He had to admit, it was a little disconcerting, but he just told himself that maybe it was supposed to rain today anyways. Lydia, it seemed, was telling herself the same thing.

“Okay, that was… weird,” she stopped for a moment, looking at him with a look on her face he couldn’t quite decipher, “Read the one right below it.”

“What does it mean?”

“Just read it!” she snapped.

“Okay, okay, relax!” clearing his throat, he read the line over once in his head before reading aloud, “ _Natura, et da pluviam super te rogo tincidunt sereno._ ”

Another chill – and then the rain stopped. As quickly as the storm had started it was over, the roar of the thunder fading back into the distance. The sky cleared and the setting sun once again shone through his window, casting shadows on the wall.

“Alright, that’s it – I’m done,” Lydia threw her hands up in the air before standing up and grabbing her purse, “Seriously Stiles, you should bring that thing back to wherever the hell you got it from.”

“You can’t be serious. Lydia, that wasn’t magic. That was just nature being nature. It happens.”

“Well ‘nature being nature’ was too much of a freaky coincidence for me to want to stick around and see what else this thing can do.”

“It can’t _do_ anything – it’s a book.”

But it didn’t change her mind. She said goodbye, warning him one last time – something about the balance of the universe and upsetting the natural order of things – and left, and Stiles was left alone to clean up bits of pizza off of the floor and come up with some half-assed excuse for why half the bottle of Chabernaud was missing. Not that his father would ask. He’d stopped asking a lot of questions once Stiles finally came clean about what had really been going on in Beacon Hills and what had happened to Scott and why he’d been spending so much time with not one, but two murder suspects. Though, he’d left out the part about spending a lot of time with an _actual_ murderer who Derek then, well, murdered and Lydia somehow brought back to life – so now he was spending a lot of time with an undead murdering werewolf. That part he’d leave out for forever. 

The front door opened just as Stiles was carefully returning the bottle of wine to its place in the liquor cabinet, and Stiles fully expected to hear his father’s voice announcing his return. But what he got instead was a firm grip on his shoulder and someone yanking him to his feet, shoving with unnecessary force into the counter top. It wasn’t his father, though he was really beginning to wish it was. He’d take getting caught stealing from the cookie jar over this. Hell, he’d take anything over this. Getting manhandled by Derek Hale was never particularly high on his to-do list.

“I told you not to mess with that book.”

“No, you _suggested_ I don’t mess with it. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Don’t be such a sour wolf.”

“Stiles, I mean it –“

“You’re not the boss of me, Derek. I know your whole angry, dark ‘I’m the Alpha’ routine works on the Betas, but it doesn’t work on me. I’m not afraid of you.”

His eyes flashed red and now there weren’t just nails but claws digging into his shoulder, and he practically growled through clenched teeth, “Stiles.”

“Okay, so maybe you do still kind of scare me a little bit, but it doesn’t mean I have to listen to you.”

“Stiles, you have no idea what you’re messing with – you need to bring the book back before someone gets hurt.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Come _on_ – do you seriously think that book actually does anything? There’s no such thing as magic, Derek. Yeah that whole thing with the rain was kind of freaky, but it wasn’t magic. All I need is something scientific – medicinal. An herb or something that can cure Scott – there’s something in that book that can help him, Derek, I just know it. I made a promise to him and I intend to keep it.”

Derek was quiet, looking down at the ground rather than at Stiles, the grip on his shoulder loosening. There was a look on his face – one that strongly resembled disappointment but there was something else mixed in, something Stiles couldn’t quite place. As soon as he was sure Derek wouldn’t try to rip his throat out, he brushed his hand away and shut the door to the liquor cabinet. Glancing out the window he could see his father’s headlights at the end of the driveway. Derek must have heard the car coming because he was already heading towards the side door.

“Hey Stiles – I really hope I don’t have to say ‘I told you so’.”

And Stiles liked to think that he’d just received Derek’s ‘okay’ – the go-ahead to continue on, to search for the cure. It was in that book. Somewhere, on one of those pages, full of dense paragraphs and words he didn’t understand, there was something that could help Scott and he wouldn’t stop until he found it. Because he’d made a promise, and it was a promise he was hell bent on keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have a good idea of where I want this to go, I just have to actually write it. But I'm having so much fun writing this I'm sure I'll be updating it rather often.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' frustrations get the better of him.

“What else did you find out about the book?”

He had a mouth full of half-chewed pizza but Isaac was still looking at him like he was made out of fucking gold and it made Stiles sick to his stomach. When Allison had announced that she was leaving for the summer, going on some trip with her father to France, Stiles thought this was it – this was the chance he’d been waiting for to finally spend some quality time with Scott. Hang out, shoot the breeze, play video games, fill up on junk food – anything to make it feel like old times again, because despite the fact that he and Allison had been ‘on a break’ for almost three months now, Stiles was still playing the role of third wheel. It didn’t seem like that was about to change anytime soon, though, because almost as soon as Allison left, Isaac had taken her place and Stiles was once again left feeling like a third wheel. But he didn’t know what was worse – watching Scott swoon over Allison, or watching Isaac hanging onto Scott’s every word.

“Why don’t you chew your food then try asking me again?”

Isaac glared at him, like _he_ was the one who had just been insulted and Stiles rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous – sitting in a food court at the mall, talking about monsters and magic over undercooked tacos and overcooked pizza. But apparently Scott and Isaac had already made plans for the day before Stiles had called and insisted he and Scott get together to discuss the book. Scott, always the people pleaser, had decided that the best thing to do would be to combine the two. Which meant that Stiles would not only have to put up with Isaac for the entire day, but he’d also have to fill him in on everything – if Scott hadn’t already done so. And given the fact that Isaac didn’t even look the slightest bit confused as to what they were talking about, he probably had.

“Not much, really – it’s all in Latin so I’ve spent more time on the internet trying to translate it than anything else. Kind of hard to find what you’re looking for when the whole damn book is in a dead language.”

“Well you should just ask Lydia to translate it, then,” Scott suggested with a shrug.

“Yeah, Earth to Scott,” he waved a hand in front of Scott’s face, “Did you miss the whole story like, a minute ago where I told you she got freaked out and left? Where’ve you been?”

Probably lost in his mind somewhere, thinking about Allison – or Isaac. Now that was a very disturbing thought, and Stiles tried very hard to shove it out of his brain. The Weres must have noticed the sudden shift in his mood because they were staring at him with very bemused looks on their faces, but Stiles just cleared his throat.

“So, I pretty much just have to keep going through it page by page until I find something that might help.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Isaac mused.

“It is a lot of work. And it’s going to take a really freaking long time unless someone decides to help me,” Stiles said, making sure to look straight at Scott as he did.

Scott just pretended not to notice, “I’m sure you’ll get through it. You’ve always been good with sifting through all that supernatural stuff.”

“Those were internet articles. It’s easy to narrow down what you’re looking for on the internet. This is a four hundred page book written in a language I never knew existed until Lydia started taking it in seventh grade.”

Isaac jumped in before Scott could, “Well, from what he’s told me about the research you’ve done in the past, you’re the guy for the job.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as I’m doing this for a _friend_ , it would be nice if that friend wanted to help out.”

Silence fell over the table, and Stiles stabbed away angrily at his rice, pushing it around and making a mess because he really didn’t feel like eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Isaac’s hand move and Scott brushing it away just moments later. He could have sworn he heard Scott mutter something like ‘not in front of Stiles’ but it was possible he was just hearing things. Or he heard exactly what he thought he heard, which meant this whole situation was now ten times more infuriating than it was a moment ago.

“I think I’m just gonna go,” Stiles pushed his chair back and stood up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder (because he’d brought the book along in hopes that Scott would at least pretend to be interested) and grabbed his tray.

“Wait, Stiles – I’ll come by later and help you with the book if you want,” and even without super werewolf powers, Stiles could hear the hesitation in Scott’s voice.

Stiles just snorted and shook his head, “No thanks.”

“But you just –“

“I know what I said, and I meant it. Silly me for thinking you’d actually want to spend time with me and help me figure out this thing. But you’re busy with your new best friend, so sorry for intruding.”

Stiles picked up his tray and stormed off, not really caring that he looked about as immature as a preschooler. He was upset and angry and well, there were just a whole slew of emotions going on that he really didn’t care enough to sort out. Stepping onto the escalator at Macy’s, his impatience got the better of him and he quickly descended the steps down to the bottom floor. He’d parked in the garage just outside the store and was weaving his way through displays of furniture and bedding to reach the exit when he bumped into the last person he wanted to see. Literally.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles demanded, like Derek Hale was never allowed to go out and do normal things like going to the mall.

Derek hardly gave him a second glance, going back to examining whatever it was he’d been looking at before Stiles had plowed into him, “I need new bed sheets.”

“Why do you need new bed sheets?” Stiles knew he was going to regret asking before the words finished falling from his lips.

He placed the package of sheets back on the shelf – black, 500 thread count, Ralph Lauren queen sized – and then turned towards Stiles with a devilish grin, “I ruined the last ones.”

It was more information than Stiles had ever wanted to know, and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks because all he could picture was Derek Hale rolling around in bed with some pretty blonde for hours on end. And now Stiles was surprised he wasn’t shopping for a new bed frame, too, and Derek must have read his mind of something because he laughed and then turned back to the shelves full of sheets like nothing had happened. God, he hated werewolves.

Derek threw a package at him and Stiles barely had time to react, only just managing to catch them, “What do you think of those?”

“What do you mean, what do I think? They’re black. You don’t have much of a color palette.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Well excuse me for not being a mind reader.”

“Really? I thought you were a magician now, aren’t you supposed to be able to do these things?”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes, “Those are psychics, not magicians. And I am neither – because like I told you yesterday, there’s no such thing as magic.”

“Just tell me if they’re soft or not,” Derek growled, growing tired of their little game, if you could even call it that.

Stiles fumbled with the packaging, the zipper getting stuck about half-way, but he finally managed to get it open and ran his fingers over the fabric, “Yeah they’re soft, but why do I have to feel them? I think you’re capable of figuring out how something feels. Physically, I mean. Emotionally you’re pretty much a lost cause.”

Derek ignored the last bit, and when he spoke Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin because he was most definitely _not_ that close before, “Because I’m not going to be the only one using them.”

Again, more than Stiles ever wanted to know about Derek, and he was really, _really_ starting to hate werewolves and he wished he could knock that stupid smirk right off of Derek’s face. His stupid, dumb, incredibly handsome face. It shouldn’t have surprised Stiles as much as it did that Derek sometimes had… company. He wasn’t a bad looking guy. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was very much a good looking guy. 

Derek took the package from Stiles, purposefully brushing against his hand as he did so and the heat rose in his cheeks once again. The alpha laughed and Stiles rolled his eyes. At least someone found something about this amusing because he sure didn’t.

“Can I go now, or do you want my opinions on bath towels, too?” Derek looked over at him and quirked a brow and Stiles’ eyes were beginning to get tired of all this eye rolling, “Oh my god, I’m leaving.”

“Hey Stiles –“Derek called after him.

Stiles paused and turned around, and Derek was _right there_ and grinning that grin, and Stiles just wanted to turn and run but he knew he’d only get about two feet before Derek caught him. Or maybe he wanted Stiles to run with his tail caught between his legs and relish in the fact that he’d just successfully made a teenager _very_ uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’ll go with the burgundy,” he said, taking Stiles’ hand and placing it on a new package of bed sheets, his voice dropping to a low growl, “It would look so nice against your pale skin.”

And that was his cue. Pulling his hand away, Stiles rushed off, running through the store towards the exit. The whole way home he tried not to think about the unexpected softness of Derek’s skin, or the look in his eye when he’d made that not-so-subtle innuendo that wasn’t really an innuendo at all, or the fact that he no doubt heard his heart racing like mad.

He really freaking hated werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know where I was going with this chapter. It just sort of happened. And then it turned into Derek messing around just for the sake of being an asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I've had for a while, mostly just for a quick little AU but I've decided to turn it into a fic. I really love this plot and I hope you enjoy it as well!


End file.
